Hypochondriac

I visited the doctor recently. Got something in my throat. Or was it serious enough to warrant a visit to the doctor?

I wonder. Because, if its is not a big problem, one thing is sure – I’m becoming a hypochondriac. I mean it could have been anything.

The doctor said it was inflammation. Of course, my immediate response was, “Does it mean that I’m hot”. Okay, okay. I didn’t say it. Coz, the doctor is a male, pushing sixty, and was probably salivating over some vacation brochures before I incurred his displeasure. If it was some babe doctor, I am sure she would have been suitably seduced and prescribe me some rat poison.

The thing is, I have been pretty sensitive as a kid. I asked my mom about it recently and she said, “yeah, you bug me even when you get mosquito bites”. I said, of course, it could have been malaria or dengue. But I didn’t like the look she gave me.

I guess we all are a bit of a hypochondriac in many ways. No? What do you mean don’t include us? We are human, right? What? I am not? Hey, go fly kite.

Okay, sorry, that was Wilson. Just saw Cast Away last night and got into that mood.

Where was I?

Yeah. Hypochondriac. The other week, I saw kind of pimple thingy on the back of my palm. I scratched it. It grew back. I scratched it again. And it got bigger. And I got worried. What if it is some kind of alien growing and waiting to burst out and call me ‘papa’?

But I gave it some time. Turned out to be wart. Yeah. Freakin’ mole.

So, my advice to you kids out there. It’s okay if you feel slight change of temperature in yourself. It could be the weather. You know how the weather is these days. Or it could be some exotic South American disease. Go figure.

Mathavan Lachupathan

It’s been sometimes since I updated this blog. I have to, now, but on a sad note.

My colleague passed away on Sunday night (5 June 2005). It was quite a blow to our office. And a bigger blow (apart from his family, close friend and relatives) was for me. Not that I was particularly close to him. He would introduce me as friend to others and I would think, “I’m not your friend, I am your colleague”. That’s me. And that was him.

You see, Mathavan is a musician. He plays drum for Indian bands, playing for Tamil songs. That is where both of us clicked. I shared my love for old Tamil songs and films with him. Like me, he was an ardent Sivaji fans. We would spent long time discussing Sivaji films and analyse performances until the boss calls him.

Then, on Monday afternoon, me, and the rest of the office folks, were looking at his widow by the coffin. He looked calm. There was satisfaction in his face. He should be. Because, when his life left him, he was playing drum. It was the second song, according to his close friend and fellow musician for last few decades, Bani, and he dropped the stick. Mathavan bend down to pick the stick up and he never got up.

I will miss all those conversations we had. Those discussions, debates. I lent him Sivaji movie Savale Samali a couple of weeks ago. Something strange happened. Because usually he would watch it over the weekend and return it to me on Monday. He was THAT disciplined, something I don’t see in many Malaysians. This time, he never finished the movie. He kept apologising to me for the delay, and I would brush that away, knowing well the he would watch it and return it. I was just eager to discuss about it. Alas, none of these happened.

He was not a great worker. Maybe adequate. We have our squabbles, the usual office politics. But he did not and never have hurt me. I don’t recall having heard of him talking bad about me. Much more, he helped me. Even financially in many occasions. All that no more.

I know his loss will be and should be mourned. But I will try not too. He died peacefully, and especially while doing something he loved the most. It was a great death. Not many artists can get this kind of death. Its like straight to heaven with no passport. Mr Mathavan, wherever you are, Thank You. And say hi to John Bonham for me, will ya.

Talk Cock

Well, I ran out of idea to put in my blog and I asked Ms. Caffeinhigh for ideas. She was happy with my research on banana leaf and its affect on insomniacs (see my thesis: The Predicament of Post Banana Leaf Lunch Predicament. Unfortunately the research has to be halted as the authorities issued budget cuts. Damn the authorities!

I offered her to offer me…wait, let me get that right. I asked her to give me a subject to research on with my limited budget (RM 17.60) and she asked me something rather personal to MANkind. But then, things might get personal. And when things get personal, it means sequel. And you know sequel, bigger budget, higher expectation, etc.

I declined on a research on that subject, and she asked this:
Why does cock crow in the morning?

That’s right. Cock. Crowing in the morning.

I take it that she meant rooster.

With my miniscule budget, I went straight to….Straight Dope (www.straightdope.com), and here are the excerpts:

David Feldman, in WHEN DO FISH SLEEP, says that ornithologists believe crowing marks out territory -- kind of like male dogs peeing, only noisier and easier to clean up after. Kind of saying, "This is my coop, get the heck out of my way, don't mess with my women."

I immediately took to the task of interviewing (hey, Uncle Grouchy is also a journalist, remember) to interview a prominent rooster (or cock) in a prominent coop, Colonel Sand Dust. I offered him Feldman’s explanation.

“Chicken shit!” the colonel almost spat at me. “All these intellectuals, with their chicken feed knowledge. I’d rather be henpecked than agree to his explanation.”

So, I asked him the exact reason for cocks, err…roosters, to crow in the morning. “We crow in the morning,” said Colonel Sand Dust, “coz we don’t crow in the evening, moo-haha-haha!” Later an ambulance from a local asylum passed by. God knows why.

Another explanation was given by the site, it says the following:

There presumably could be some other phenomenon that occurs regularly to trigger the crow. For instance, if a bus goes by at that time, and your rooster interprets the noise as that of an intrusion by another rooster. Or it could just be that your rooster's sleep cycle wakes him up at that time.

That actually explains why a rooster became Chicken Rendang the following day during my estate (plantation) days.

But to mistake a bus for another rooster, maaaan, the rooster must be stupid. We all know that roosters don’t have four tyres.

One last explanation was given as thus:

Feldman quotes Janet Hinshaw of the Wilson Ornithological Society: "Most of the crowing takes place in [early] morning, as does most singing, because that is when the birds are most active, and most of the territorial advertising takes place then. Many of the other vocalizations heard throughout the day are for other types of communication, including flocking calls, which serve to keep members of a flock together and in touch if they are out of sight from one another.

To be in touch, it would help if the roosters have cell phones. Like human, instead of saying hello, the usual greeting can be, “Where are you?”

The tradition of recognising roosters as some religious creature still exists. I found this explanation in the net:

Various religions throughout history have assigned special significance to the cock's crowing; it was said to have been the first animal to proclaim the birth of Christ. Both some Christians and the Norsemen held a belief that the end of the world would be heralded by the crowing of a mighty rooster.

Not only them, but Lord Murugan (A Card carrying Hindu Lord) has a rooster has one of his favourite creatures. He rides peacock for a quick transit, but I am not sure why he need a rooster.

Roosters have also been used as a sacrificial lamb in some cults. Shouldn’t it be sacrificial rooster then?

IT should also be noted that a noted obscenity ‘Cocks*cker’ comes from the word cocksacker – the bugger who sacked too many cocks, despite Rooster/Cock union protest.

Okay, I made that up. Just cock and bull story.

Why Blog?

I woke up suddenly yesterday and a question lingered on my mind, "Why me? Why do I blog?"

Look, blog is an important innovation in the 21st century. Everyone and anyone can become journalist. A journal of their personal thoughts and actions. I am a writer with a publication, and shouldn't that be enough?

The question wrecked my mind and I couldn't go back to sleep. Then, I realised that it is not good to have long naps on Sunday afternoon. So, I got up and set to writing this.

You see, long time ago I had wanted to become a columnist. An important columnist who dedicates his weekly column addressing socially critical issues like why the armpit need bushes of hair. My training was in scriptwriting, and it is basically about actions and thoughts and voices of other individuals, not your own.

Being a movie freak (as opposed to movie buff) I set up a site (http://rakeshkumar7.tripod.com) to post my reviews, but they are reviews, not my thought on all those important questions in life. I want a place to talk about life, death and why the in-between sucks. I want a site to reflect on my own life and bore the hell out of the visitors. I want a log book where I can look back and say, "Men, was I that bad in writing?"

And so, this blog was born.



But right now I have only two dedicated visitors. One is a gal whose blood circulation is fuelled by caffeine, and another, an ex-colleague, who one day innocently asked: "If Singapore has its own little forest reserve, do they have Orang Asli in it?"

I need to work on attracting more people to this blogsite. So, first thing first, I need to do branding. That's right, that hot thing they poke in the cow's ass. You call that branding, right?

Now, how the hell am I going to sell Grouchy Days as a brand? What kind of logo would I use for it? Can I cheat the visitors by proclaiming that it is a reality-Blog, now that everything on reality is sellable? Can I offer special downloads, like addresses of pirated DVD vendors who can give "special discount wan."?

How? Alas poor Groucho!

To be continued...

Not for the weak stomach!

Warning: like most of my writing, it smacks of political incorrectness. For example, I think US of A is run by a Dictator. See, incorrect politically. I'm gonna talk about weight problem here, so, for those who are not comfortable in reading it, I suggest you go the next blog which is probably about flowers, bees, and bird dung.

Now, my weight problem. Called my mom that day, and guess what was her first query? "When are you getting married?" Okay. That was first. The second was, "What's your weight now?" I can imagine her standing by the phone holding the ladle, even if she has finished cooking hours ago. I mean, shouldn't moms be asking stuff like, "hey, checked out any babes lately?" Or, "How many crates of beer you want this weekend?".

But then, mom is mom. So, I confessed. I said I saw the latest picture of myself and I looked like a pig. A PIG!!!!!!

Scenario:

Pig 1: Hey, you look fat like a pig.
Pig 2: Snort.
Pig 1: Right.

Well, it was not only mom. Some folks I have not seen for sometimes said that too. I was going, "Man, haven't seen you for sometimes now. How the hell are you?" "Oh you know, miserable as usual. What's with that tummy, bro?"

And my face! When I put on weight, it gets bloated, and I get double chin. So, off to the regime.

I have started to jog now. I was doing okay when an uncle of mine said, 'no, don't jog unless you used to be a runner."

What? Like running guns. Hehe.

He said, "Walk".

Fine. Walk. But don't we do that everyday? We walk to the room. We walk to the fridge. We walk back to the room. We walk back to the fridge and when we run out of beer, we take a quick walk down to the shop to get a few more. I mean, how much more walking can we do?

If the feet can talk, what would it say, with all these walking?

Feet: Listen, you yellow bellied chicken shit! Why torture me when it was all about your tongue and belly.

Me: Shut your mouth. Oh hell, you don't have mouth.


That, folks, is where the problem is. Its all about our mouth. Tape it shut, and sure you'll lose weight.

Speaking of which. History of weight watching began back in...

Hey, where the hell do you think you are going? Come back here.

The Predicaments of Post-Banana leaf lunch.

I had banana leaf lunch today.

And I feel sleepy. Don't you get sleepy right after having banana leaf meal? No? What did you do? Eat the leaf?

I mean, I smell controversy. Why banana leaf? Let me tell you what I think, I_

What? What do you mean you don't care what I think? I have a theory, okay!

My theory is this: Banana leaf contains stuff that makes you sleepy. It is not the meal, its the banana leaf. Get it?

As usual, lets uncle Groucho take you a ride back in time.

The Indians were mostly credited for inventing banana leaf. They have also been credited for other invention, like chewing betel leaf, spitting betel leaf juice, creation of language spoken while holding the betel leaf juice, and of course the favourite fable of crabs.

Coming back to the invention. My theory is, they were soooo workaholic at that time, to the point of risking their lives working their ass off. So, the King summoned the chief scientist cum doctor cum lingual professor cum.

"Professor cum, my workers are working too damned hard. I fear that their lives may be threatened."

"Great to hear that O' King."

"Not that, idiot, if they die who are going to work in my kingdom? The Bangladeshis?" (note that this could have been first case of immigration in the history of the world, even though the country Bangladesh didn't exist).

"Quite right, my master. I shall work on a remedy," saying which the professor took nap right in the middle of the king's court.

"What nonsense!" said King in southern Indian accent, though he recently mastered the Northern Indian accent."Sleeping in my own court, when I have not even dismissed you. Wake up you son of a bitch."

The professor woke up and apologised. But somthing struck the king.

After rubbing the swollen part, the king said, "You just took a quick rest. What did you have? Did you eat or drink anything that made you sleep?"


"Oh, I was experimenting on zopiclone. Supposed to be sleeping pills. Good for rest, you know," said the professor raising his eyebrows appromixately three and a half time.

The King couldn't believe it. He finally found a solution. "Lets manufactur it and sell it in US dollars."

"But the workers?" asked the professor.

"To hell with them!"

And so....where was I.

Yeah. Banana leaf. Right. I err...gotta go, now.

When the wrong place gets stiff...

How many of you have woken up with stiff neck in the morning? Hallo? Dang, guess its monologue huh?

It happened again. I was walking like Robocop minus the superpowers. In fact, I might look downright arrogant, not wanting to turn my head and all. I might look at your sideways with a raised eyebrow, as if I have caught you making snide remarkes. The truth is, its the freakin's neck. I can't freakin move it.

I guess to make this blog more interesting and fact based, I will check on the history book.

Lets see, the first stiff neck incident occurred to Jurassic Era (There are other eras, but Spielberg haven't filmed them yet), when the T-Rex got stiff neck when he woke up in the mornig. So, he grabbed the quitar and sang the blues:

Woke up this mornin'
With a freakin stiff neck, I'm gonna kill ya, you m**********r!!!!!!

So, you believe in that comet theory, huh? Heh.

Then, as we move forward we come to the Shakespearean era. Yeah, the Bard himself got it when he was writing Hamlet. Hamlet was supposed to be a slapstick comedy about an egg, but he got the stiff neck and the rest is history.

I am not blaming or crediting stiff neck for many occurences in history, but I am just relating to you the rage I feel now. I feel like killing poor, defenceless insect, and if anybody got one, post it to me. Grrrr.....

Have I told you about sore throats?

The day when computer crashes

Technology is supposed to make our lives easier. True? Eeeeeeeeeet! Wrong answer

They make our lives miserable when they break down. That's right, I am talking about computers. That's when you feel miserable, you can't sleep, you can't keep awake, and there are mild thoughts of suicide.

Wait, that's hangover.

Well, something similar happens when your dear PC breaks down. Today, its not mine, but my colleague's that started showing finger and refused to work, even when offered compensations.

So, like a true hero, I got onto the saddle and tried to do something. Guess what?

It got worse.

Now, we have to call the real expert and something that our boss doesn't like will certain to happen - more bills.

Why can't they invent something that won't and can never break down. I mean technology is so advanced that they even have viruses for cellphones now. Destruction seemed so easy.

So, now I will have to live with the guilt, over the weekend, that I screwed my colleague's PC. God have mercy on my poor soul.

Dreaming online

I have a website, it's name is Rakesh's Movie Talk. Okay, it was named after me. I wanted to name it after some prominent folks, but I ain't got enough dough to pay for the rights. Mine is the cheapest.

The trouble with maintaining a website is maintaining it. That's right. I love to put my stuff up there, but the job of loading it, man. So, I always end up apologising for the lateness of it all.

The best thing about having your own website is that you can do whatever you want with it. You can post anything up there. Of course, I have to reword that sentence, if you get calls from authority. Otherwise, its okay.

As for me, I had always fancied myself as a movie critic. I am not sure about qualification. Maybe you need some film studies background. I don't have any. I only qualify because I am a movie buff, in a limited way since there are still thousands of movies which I had not seen.

So, there you go. My site is the platform for me to be a practising film critic, except I don't get paid for it. I mean, through websites you can become businessment, president of your own cult, prophet, journalist, etc.

And then what?

Find way to find income through it? I have heard so much of it, and many ideas put forth are brilliant. And what am I to do with my site? I know well that the quality of the writing in there ranks probably only a bit highter than those you find in teen chat room. I can't sell it.

So, all in all, I see my chat, like this blog, function as some kind of journal. A reminder on how I felt about certain movie at that time. And, hopefully if I had been careless, I might find traces of occurences in my life at the time I wrote those reviews.

I talked too much. Ciao.

Something to talk about...

Some babe called me up and asked about my blogsite.

Can you believe it? Someone actually read my blog.

Or she just wanted to highlight top ten worst blog in the world to some potential bloggers wanna be.

Well, guess I shall talk about something today.

See, this morning I met couple of guys, one French and another Greece. They deal with Submarine batteries. They wanna sell it to the Malaysian Navy who'd be getting the Scorpene submarines.

The thing is, I interviewed this man for the Asian Defence & Diplomacy magazine and he liked the article. Its just another run-of-the-mill stuff that I cranked out a couple of months ago.

And then, she removed her clothes one after another, sighing and moaning while at it...

There, I managed to keep you awake. We need sex and violence, right?

And today he started asking me, "So what do you think are the chances?"

Me? Opinion? On defence industry? He must be freakin' kidding me. The only think I know in-depth is probably movies. Or James Bond. Or boiling eggs.

So, I cranked up my eyebrows, gave an expression close to one you get when you are having constipation and said, 'Look, I don't know much about these things."

Or something like that. But I did tell him a thing or two about Malaysians being generally not US friendly, and they might actually get some orders after all.

Coming back, I reflected. And it reflected back, so I guess I can't comment much.

Its hard to let people know how much you know. Especially when you are journalists, where people tend to think that you know everything. Yes, we do know everything...that we don't know.

There, I shall leave you in this properly confused state. Take it easy...

Million Dollar Baby

Those who know me, knows that I am a big Clint Eastwood fan. Those who don't know me, it's about time. You don't know what you haven't missed.

So, I waited and waited and finally it came. No, I am not talking about my sex life. I am talking about the best film ever made by Clint Eastwood.

The film, Million Dollar Baby, will keep my grappling with Insomnia the next few weeks. It's THAT powerful. And I don't think Eastwood is ever gonna make a movie this good or give a perfomance this powerful.

I would like to go on record to state that this is the best movie ever since the Millenium. I would also like to go on record to say that Chris Rock sucks as a host for Oscars.

I don't quite recall a favourite movie in the nineties, either. Lemme check my top ten...Nope, the latest is White Hunter Black Hunter which was out in 1989. So, probably the best after another Eastwood film. I guess being Eastwood fan, I am a bit biased.

I need to rework on my top ten, now. Till then....